Udon Lesson
by MoyaKite
Summary: For the Giripan exchange way back when. Japan teaches Greece how to make udon.


**Title: **Udon Lesson  
**Author:** MoyaKite  
**Recipient: **wefasappleblood  
**Rating: **G  
**Warnings:** None.  
**Summary: **For the prompt: "Teaching each other to cook something." Kiku teaches Herakles how to cook udon.  
**Notes: **Okay, so this is the first fanfiction that I've written in five years, literally, and my very first Hetalia fanfiction. I tried to follow the prompt as best I could, and I tried to keep it in character. I hope that it's interesting to read, and, um, I really hope that all of you like it. Especially you, wefasappleblood. Happy holidays!

Also, many thanks to Abarero for looking this over for me!

Oh, and, um, I shamelessly took the cooking information from my own experiences, which I cross-referenced (to supplement my potentially faulty memory) with this blog.

Oh, one more thing. I watch the Japanese versions of the episodes, and most of this is based on their speaking style in the Japanese, translated into English. I know that there are a lot of ways to translate things, but I hope that this works for everyone. (Oh dear, my notes are so long! I'm sorry! I'll shut up and let you read now.)

Happy holidays!

* * *

"What's in the dough?" Herakles asked, prodding the baggy as he sat back on his heels. Kiku glanced at him sidelong.

"Nothing special," he replied. "Flour, water, salt. I thought it would be easier to make that much in advance."

Herakles nodded once, turning the baggy over in his hands, then set it back down on the board. A sharp knife lay to one side of the board, as did a rolling pin. The bumps of the tatami mat felt good beneath his feet, and Herakles stretched.

"What do we do first?" Herakles asked, looking over at Kiku, who was getting to his feet. Kiku motioned for Herakles to stand, too, and he obeyed.

"Put the dough on the ground," Kiku said, "In the baggy, of course." Herakles stooped down, gently setting the dough on the ground, and he thought he caught a smile around the edges of Kiku's eyes when he looked up again. "Now," Kiku said, straightening up, "we stomp on it."

Herakles tilted his head to one side, watching as Kiku stepped firmly on the baggy.

"But I'm bigger than Kiku," he said, tapping it warily with one foot.

"The more weight, the better," Kiku said, hopping on the bag. "This is what really gives udon its texture. Step or jump on it until it's flat, and don't worry about hurting the dough. The bags should be strong enough that they won't break or let the dough slip out."

Herakles did as he was told, watching Kiku's determined efforts to flatten the dough out of the corner of his eye. When the dough was flat, Kiku picked up the dough and folded it back up; Herakles copied him.

"Now what?" Herakles asked, but Kiku was already setting the baggy back on the floor.

"We continue until the dough is firm and resistant," Kiku said, and Herakles was almost sure that he spotted a fleeting smile catch at the corner of Kiku's mouth. "Or until you're tired, I suppose."

They stepped on and re-folded the udon dough time and again in silence. Herakles relaxed. Most of the other nations would be chattering away, forcing themselves to come up with more and more small talk, getting more and more frustrated as Herakles refused to pick up the speed of the conversation or lapsed off into thought. With Kiku, Herakles didn't have to speak to communicate. They could sit in a comfortable silence for hours at a time.

Flattening the dough again and again, Herakles's mind wandered. Kiku's determination and focus as he worked was impressive; Kiku always seemed so serious when it came to food. That was part of why Herakles had asked for a cooking lesson. Seeing Kiku so worked up made Herakles smile. But it wasn't only that—being able to make Japanese food even when he was away from Kiku would be comforting, Herakles thought.

"How is yours coming along?" Kiku asked. "Firm and resistant yet?"

Herakles stepped off the dough and balled it up again. It did feel different than it had at first. He offered it to Kiku, who tested it and smiled.

"Time for the next step," Kiku said. "You need to fold the round edge of the dough inward bit by bit, all the way around the circle. Keep going until the top is smooth and the bottom has all of the creases."

Herakles obeyed, carefully tucking the edges under the ball of dough. Kiku was much more efficient and well-practiced; Herakles noticed him dusting flour on the wooden board with the rolling pin. After Kiku approved his dough ball, Herakles scooped up some flour and made to do the same.

"Just enough to keep the dough from sticking," Kiku cautioned. "Too much flour could change the consistency of the dough."

Herakles sprinkled the flour and then set to work flattening the dough into a circle the size of a dinner platter, just like Kiku had started doing. It fought him every step of the way, curling back to its original form if he let it. Kiku was already using the rolling pin.

"Is this okay?" Herakles asked, motioning to his dough. Kiku set aside the rolling pin and examined it.

"The shape doesn't matter," Kiku said. "It looks a little thicker in the middle than at the edge. Make sure that it's even throughout."

"And then?"

"Flatten it with the rolling pin without allowing it to bunch up, then unroll the dough. Rotate it a bit, then repeat."

"There's a lot of repetition," Herakles said, glancing sidelong at Kiku.

"I think it's relaxing," Kiku said, and Herakles grinned.

They sat in a long, comfortable silence. The breadth of Herakles's flattened dough doubled, and he was content to think about not much at all. Kiku's presence was warm and soothing at his side, and the work was easy. Herakles thought of a dozen things to say and decided that none of them really mattered enough to discuss.

"That's enough," Kiku said, breaking the silence. Herakles jumped a little at the sudden noise, blinking as though rising from a deep sleep. Kiku reached over and spread a big handful of flour on Greece's dough. "It'd ruin the noodles if they stuck now," Kiku explained. Herakles nodded. Kiku drew back, then hesitated. "You know, it's almost a shame."

"What?"

"It's more enjoyable to make it together. If I teach you the whole process, you won't need to come by when you want udon." Kiku blushed suddenly, turning away. "Ah, I've been a bit too frank. Pardon me."

"You..." Herakles began, swallowing, "You could teach me the rest next time, Kiku."

Kiku paused for a moment, then looked up at Herakles. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Yes," Kiku said. "That's a good idea. Shall I finish preparing the udon, then?" Kiku asked, his smile growing. Herakles nodded. "I take it that you'll want tempura to go with it?"

"Yes, please."

"Of course," Kiku said. "Just a moment."

Kiku worked briskly; Herakles could hardly keep track of what he was doing with the noodles. The tempura had been prepared in advance, and only needed to be fried—it was just like Kiku to anticipate what Herakles would want. Soon they were sitting on either side of a boiling pot that stood over a little flame. Kiku dropped in half of his noodles and half of Herakles's. The rest he carefully packaged in a box while they cooked.

"To take home," he said, holding the box out to Herakles. "To tide you over until our next lesson."

They shared a smile.

"Until next time," Herakles grinned. "Thank you."


End file.
